Chapter 1

As the day drew to a close, Martin was sitting on the roof of his house, looking up at the stars, thinking. It was Martin's last day of being eleven. As all children knew, turning twelve was the biggest day in a human's life. Soon however, his stream of thoughts was broken by his parents coming up to talk with him. All that day, he had his stomach in knots, with the constant worry that his aptitude, around which every person shaped their life, would not suit his interests. Even though everyone got an aptitude for which their personality was suited, all children worried before the aptitude test. 'You have a big, busy day tomorrow,' Martin's mother commented, 'Why don't you get some rest?' Martin responded with a weak shrug. He was too nervous to say anything, and just thinking about it, he knew that he would never be able to sleep.

As the three of them gazed up into the infinite abyss above them, they fell into the comfortable silence that each family could hold. After a few minutes, it was Martin's father began to point out the constellations in the night sky. Ever since he was a boy, Hal had always been fascinated with the sky, or anything beyond what was known. He had devoted his life to learning, so that he might be able to understand the world. As for Martin's mother, Rachel, she was the one who did, rather than thought. She, although slender in form, was a well-known, and respected, blacksmith. She repaired armor for adventurers, forged amulets of protection, and made weapons for battle. As Martin began to nod off under the night sky, Rachel carried him inside, and tucked him into his bed.

…

The day was bright and clear when Martin rose the next morning. As he began to get ready for yet another day, it hit him. He was twelve. When he got downstairs, he was feeling queasier than he had last night. The day had come, the day when he would receive his lifelong gift. Several hours later, Martin walked from his house, and down the street, towards the examination hall.

He, along with all the other twelve-year-olds, filed into place, according to name. After several minutes of this, the fifty or so boys and girls entered the hall, to be tested, and then selected, for their talent. One after another, the children walked through the door, and proceeded to take the test. About an hour later, it was Martin's turn to take the test. As he walked through the wooden doorway, a kind-looking lady began to give him instructions. "Please place your hand on the crystal ball and wait for the next person to come for you," was all that she said. As Martin hastened to obey, she advised him to listen very carefully to whatever he may hear while his hand was on the orb.

Martin walked up to the crystal and placed his hand on it. Suddenly, he heard a voice, clear as day, speak. Startled, Martin jumped and looked around. There was no one about. So, taking the nice lady's advice, he listened to what the disembodied voice was saying.

Though the sounds of thunder on metal are fascinating,

You are not suited.

Though the books of knowledge interest you,

You are not suited.

To tell one's story, that is a gift.

To make into being, that is a craftsman's job.

To visualise, and understand, that is the role of a mage.

To intertwine these three things,

A new creation is forged.

For each alone is strong, together it is extraordinary.

Soon after the voice finished it's strange poem, Martin was called into the next room. He found an elderly man sitting on a chair. The old man beckoned, asking him to sit across from him. Peering down through his spectacles, he absently commented, "You are eligible for three different schools of trade here, young Martin." Martin, confused by this, merely nodded. The old man continued "However, due to the wording of the poem, it seems that you are to learn all three." Looking up, the wizened man looked at Martin, his gaze piercing through his very soul. "I will consult with each school, looking for a master to teach you from each. You are a very peculiar young man, Martin. I have never seen someone that has had such a strange poem. Something unique."